


The Only True Believer

by casual_distance



Series: 30 Day Cheesy Tropes Challenge [23]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Canon, Blasphemy, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Face-Fucking, Fantasizing, Future Fic, M/M, Masturbation, Power Play, Public Masturbation, Referenced Bottom Castiel, mentioned Bobby Smith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-20 11:09:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4785137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casual_distance/pseuds/casual_distance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The painting looms over the church sanctuary as Pastor Nathaniel preaches.  Dean stares up at it, eyes drawn to the figure dominating the scene, lust pooling in his gut at the thought of that power bending knee to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Only True Believer

Dean’s visiting home for the summer before his senior year of college when Ellen pokes her head into Dean’s room and tells him he’s coming to church with them. 

Dean groans, dropping his head down against the back of his desk chair. “Come on, Mom. No church.”

“Dean.” Ellen steps into his room and frowns at him. “I know you don’t really believe any more, but it would be a nice family evening. Besides,” she adds with a teasing smile, “we’re going out to eat at Benny’s afterwards.”

That catches Dean’s attention and he lifts his head to look at his mom. She smiles when Dean rolls his eyes and gives in.

“Fine. But I’m not singing!” Dean shouts after her as she heads back down the hallway to the living room.

“If you say so, sweetie,” she calls back.

Dean groans and flops down on his bed. Ellen is a firm believer in the Church of the Infinite Believer’s message. It isn’t a bad message, Dean supposes, all about love being holy and that you should love as you will with no fear, but what he got hung up on was on the God that had supposedly given the message to his people.

He’d been an Angel, the story went, a servant to a god from an ancient religion that had died out long ago. He had rescued a human from Hell and then fallen in love with him. After the human was killed by the Angel’s god, the Angel rebelled, killing the god and laying waste to his religion and the other Angels. It was claimed that he was the last of the race of Angels as a result. 

Afterwards, he had lived amongst humans, teaching them, learning from them, until his story had become a religion and he had found himself with a following. Not wanting to be a god to anyone, he had abandoned his followers and returned to an empty Heaven to live alone.

Ellen had always said the story was about the strength of love, about humility in not being a leader, but Dean had always seen the darkness in it. The way a creature could murder his own kin and then abandon those who worshiped him for his own selfishness had always rubbed Dean wrong.

Still, Dean thinks as he sits at the back of the church late that evening, staring up at the painting that hangs behind the pulpit, the God Castiel was definitely hot, assuming the portrait was accurate. 

Dean tugs off his jacket and glances around. He’s in the back corner; Ellen and Bobby always sit in the front of the church, but the pastor, a slender man with dark hair, took too much pleasure in recounting the tales of destruction rained down by Castiel on his fellow Angels. He creeped Dean out, and Dean used him as an excuse to sit as far in the back as possible. Today, Dean has tucked himself in a back corner by a pillar.

Dean folds his leg to rest his ankle on top of his opposite knee and drapes his jacket over his lap. He slides his right hand between his legs and palms himself through his jeans as he looks up at the painting again.

In it, the Angel Castiel is depicted in battle with demons during the rescue of the human that would change the course of history. Castiel stands at the front of an army of Angels. Their faces are obscured, hidden in the shadow of Castiel’s wide-stretched wings, swords held low. Castiel’s face is clearly visible. His dark hair is cropped close to his head, eyebrows lowered in concentration. A scowl curls his lips. Castiel’s eyes glow blue as he looks down on the red pits of Hell. The flames arch up around Castiel’s feet, swirl around his legs, blend into the red of his cape where it curls around his body and up over his shoulders. Castiel holds his own sword high. It gleams silver, the same as his armor. Lines of luminescent blue streak across Castiel’s chest, down the curves of his ribs, the lines of his arm: the Angel Castiel glows with his impending God-hood.

Dean licks his lips. He looks around again, but everyone’s attention is at the front of the sanctuary. The choir starts a song, and Dean takes the opportunity to pull down his zipper and open his pants, giving himself room to manipulate his erection, his boxers still in place to control the mess.

He strokes himself through his underwear and thinks about the stories of Castiel and his human, how he’d let himself be dominated by a human man. He imagines himself as Castiel's human and thinks about putting Castiel to his knees, seeing his blue eyes wide with want, drinking in Dean and the way Dean’s cock juts out from his body, flushed red and hard, the head wet with precome. He imagines Castiel licking his lips, leaning forward to brace his hands on Dean’s thighs.

“Please, Dean,” he would sigh. His voice low and hoarse, he’d beg to take Dean into his mouth. Dean would look down at him where he sits naked, needy, his cock hard between his spread thighs. ( _Would an angel even have a dick?_ Dean had wondered on occasion, before deciding that it didn’t really matter since he wasn’t real.)

Dean bites back a moan and squeezes his own cock at the thought of a god begging to worship him. Dean closes his eyes briefly, bites his lower lip. With another squeeze, Dean opens his eyes and glances around to check that he’s still unnoticed. A man has come in and sat down at the end of Dean’s pew while Dean was distracted, but he’s looking up at Pastor Nathaniel and not at Dean. 

Dean studies him for a moment, not recognizing him. Dean’s hometown is small enough that most everyone knows everyone else, and no one has mentioned someone new moving in. The man’s dark hair is disheveled, messy in a way that makes Dean think of digging his fingers into it. The sharp angle of his jawline is darkened with stubble and he wears a tan overcoat that’s clearly seen better days. The coat has pulled back, showing off where the man is wearing a suit a size too large, his white dress shirt sagging down his chest, his slacks punched up and baggy.

Dean looks away, satisfied that the man is not paying him attention, and focuses his attention back on the painting. He tips his head to the side slightly and considers. Imagines, again, Castiel on his knees before Dean, but instead of that short black hair, cropped like Dean’s, he has slightly longer hair, the same messy look as the man at the end of the pew. Dean slips his hand into the slit of his boxers and starts stroking himself, careful to keep his arm as still as possible, movement contained to his wrist. He shifts his legs, turns his weight slightly so that he is angled away from the man, his other arm resting against his raised knee to block as much of the man’s view as possible.

In his mind, Castiel still grips his thighs tightly. “Dean,” he murmurs to catch Dean’s wandering attention. “Please,” he says again, leaning forward to nuzzle his face against Dean’s cock. The scratch of his stubble causes Dean to groan, and he grinds his hips against Castiel’s face.

He digs his fingers into Castiel’s hair, holding his head still. “You wanna suck my cock, angel? Wanna take it deep into your throat?”

Castiel moans and nods.

Dean hums and shifts his hips so that the head of his cock brushes against Castiel’s lips, which part in response. Castiel looks up at him, pupils blown wide, expression hungry, desperate. Dean pushes the tip in, just past the swell of his lower lip, then pulls back.

“Would you let me fuck your face?” he asks, pushing forward again, further this time, a shudder going down his spine as Castiel’s mouth opens easily around the head of his cock and he feels the wet sweep of Castiel’s tongue across his slit.

“Yes, Dean,” Castiel groans when Dean pulls out again. “Please, Dean.”

Dean presses the pad of his thumb against Castiel’s lower lip, tugs it down, guiding Castiel to open his mouth. Castiel obeys. 

“That’s right, angel. Open for me.” 

Castiel opens his mouth wide, takes Dean’s cock easily, eyes closing in relief at finally getting to taste Dean. Dean sighs at the wet heat of Castiel’s mouth and thrusts a few times, testing. Castiel takes it easily, opens his eyes to look up at Dean. His fingers dig into Dean’s thighs, and Dean knows he’s going to have bruises that will last for days. His hips jerk hard at the thought and Castiel moans. Dean tightens his hands in Castiel’s hair and sets a brutal pace. Castiel looks up at him, stares at him, only at him, and Dean can’t keep the words from spilling out. 

“Look at you, so obedient. You love to worship me, don’t you? Love to obey and praise me like I’m your god.” Castiel moans and closes his eyes. Dean jerks on his hair to demand them open again. When Castiel obeys, Dean snaps his hips forward with extra force. Castiel’s fingers clench and he moans again.

“Did you do this to your other god?” Dean asks. “Did you get down on your knees and let him use you? I bet you didn’t. I bet I’m the only one who gets to see you like this, aren’t I, angel? And you love it, don’t you? Love opening up to me, love me forcing my cock into your mouth, into your ass. Love it when I own you.”

In the church, Pastor Nathaniel calls for everyone to bow their heads in prayer. Dean tips his own forward, licking his lips and struggling to control his breathing, to keep his body still. He’s so close, just a few moments more. Dean opens his eyes to stare down at his lap, wishing he could pull the jacket aside and watch his hand move over his cock.

Movement in the corner of his eye catches his attention, and Dean turns his head to find the man has slid down the pew toward Dean. He is close, close enough that Dean can see that his eyes are blue, and he stares at Dean for a long moment before glancing down at Dean’s lap. He meets Dean’s gaze again, lips parting, eyes going dark, and Dean’s orgasm punches out of him. His body stiffens, muscles in his stomach and thighs trembling with the effort of holding still as he spills into his underwear. Dean can’t break his gaze away from the man’s, and it’s good, god is it good, being caught, watching the man want him even though he caught Dean jerking off in church during a service. Dean works himself through his orgasm, then drops his chin down against his chest, finally able to look away, closing his eyes and struggling to control his breathing.

The man takes the opportunity to close the distance between them so that Dean can now feel the heat of his body, smell the musky, woodsy scent of him. Dean lifts his head to look at the man, and the man holds his gaze again as he slides his hand under Dean’s jacket to rest his palm against the inside of Dean’s thigh. Dean glances down, sees the man’s own erection pushing obscenely against his slacks. He looks up and nods at the man. The man turns back to the service while Dean wipes his hand off and tucks himself away, mindless of his mess. He tries to refocus on the sermon, but Dean’s attention is on the heat of the man’s hand against his thigh, the way his fingers tease the seam of Dean’s jeans, the way they clench to dig into the meat of Dean’s leg. 

After the service, Ellen stops at the end of the pew and frowns at Dean. “Dean, are you coming to dinner?”

Dean waves at her. “I’ll follow after you guys and meet you there, Mom. We’re going to catch up.” He nods at the man, who is watching the exchange with curiosity. Ellen hesitates, clearly not recognizing the man, and then nods acceptance. 

They sit in silence until the church has emptied out and then Dean turns to the man. The man watches him, a small smile curling the corner of his mouth upward.

“I’m Dean,” he says finally, offering his hand. The man removes his hand from Dean’s thigh to shake it.

“I know who you are, Dean Smith,” he says, curling his fingers around Dean’s hand and pulling it into his lap. Against the back of his hand, Dean can feel where the man is still half hard despite the wait. His voice is deep, rough. Dean thinks of thunder rumbling in the distance.

Dean raises his eyebrows. “Is that so?”

The man nods. He twists Dean’s hand around, pressing Dean’s palm and fingers against his cock, which grows harder under Dean’s attention. Dean licks his lips and looks down to watch, taking control and teasing the man’s erection.

“Who are you then?”

The man sighs as Dean explores his body. “You have such vivid prayers, Dean,” he murmurs. 

Dean jerks in surprise. He tries to pull his hand back. The man lets him break contact, but he does not release Dean’s wrist, does not let him get far enough away that he can no longer feel the heat of the man’s body.

The man looks at Dean; his eyes glow blue and Dean’s breath catches his throat.

“When you were younger,” he says, “you would pray for your family, for your sister and your mother and your father. You had a purity about you. Then you grew up.” He smirks at Dean. “And you wished that I had raised you from Hell. That I would touch you like you believed I touched _him_.” He pulls Dean’s hand down again, and Dean curls his fingers against his erection automatically.

“You aren’t real,” Dean says.

The man- Castiel- throws his head back and laughs. The lights in the church flicker. “I am as real as you, Dean.” He pushes his hips up into Dean’s hand. “Don’t I feel real?”

“Oh, fuck.” Dean leans back, swallowing hard. It’s one thing to think dirty thoughts about someone you don’t believe is real; it’s another thing to have that same being rolling his erection (and whaddaya know, angels do have dicks) into the palm of your hand, letting out breathy sighs when you grind the heel of your palm against it in return.

Castiel hums. He releases Dean’s wrist and reaches up to slide his fingers through Dean’s hair. 

“Not all the stories they tell about me are true,” he says as he strokes. “God was already gone by the time I rescued the Righteous Man from Hell. I slaughtered many angels, but not all of them. Many of them still live in Heaven, and many more live down here amongst you.”

Dean frowns slightly. Castiel does not stop petting him, and Dean knows he’s leaning into the touch, but he doesn’t understand what Castiel is telling him.

“I loved the Righteous Man, and I believed he loved me, but we never were together, not like this.” He moves his free hand to press Dean’s down into his crotch again.

“Why are you telling me this?” Dean asks.

Castiel digs his fingers into the back of Dean’s neck and presses. Dean goes easily, breath catching in his throat as Castiel kisses him, opens Dean’s mouth with his tongue and kisses him hard and deep. Dean pants when Castiel pulls back.

“I have waited lifetimes for you,” Castiel answers. He slides his hand up Dean’s arm and grips his shoulder. There’s nothing but the heat of Castiel’s palm before pain sears through him, robbing him of thought and breath. 

When Dean comes back to himself, he is pressed against Castiel’s body. Dean digs his fingers into Castiel’s coat and holds on as he remembers. Castiel hugs him, wrapping his arms around Dean’s shoulders and holding just as tight.

Dean presses his face against Castiel’s neck, breaths once, twice, and then says, “Hey, Cas.”

The lights in the church flicker.

**Author's Note:**

> The painting in this fic is inspired by three different fanart pieces: The basic composition is based off [this piece by freecas on tumblr](http://freecas.tumblr.com/post/61607241539/when-we-discovered-liliths-plan-for-you-we-laid). The armor is a combination of [this piece by thedurrrrian on tumblr](http://thedurrrrian.tumblr.com/post/60277535353) and [Euclase’s Cas in Roman costume](http://euclase.deviantart.com/art/Cas-in-Roman-costume-481837819).
> 
> Also, I owe a bunch of people replies to comments. I will get to it eventually, but I just wanted to say “thanks for the kind words” generally now. :) 
> 
> I’m doing a [100 word series on my tumblr](http://casualstories.tumblr.com/tagged/100-words/chrono) for September because I’ve got a lot going on this month and don’t know how much writing I can do on longer fics.


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